


what goes around comes around

by killerqueenwrites



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Humor, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker is a Good Bro, Peter is a tired college student, Sickfic, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, some language, tony is the Worst Patient Ever, when I say fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:54:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28139505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killerqueenwrites/pseuds/killerqueenwrites
Summary: “Seriously, kid, I appreciate you doing this, but it’s just a cold. Everyone gets ‘em.”“Yeah, but it’s worse for you. Remember what the doctors said?”“No.”Peter sighs, exasperated. The Snap had nearly killed Tony, and only a quick portal and the ingenuity of the Wakandan doctors had saved him. “Your immune system took a hit from the radiation. Even a mild cold is gonna knock you on your ass. So sit down and let me take care of things for a weekend.”Tony's sick, Pepper's away, and Peter's in charge. Simple, right?
Relationships: Peter Parker & Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 18
Kudos: 219
Collections: Irondad Fic Exchange 2020





	what goes around comes around

**Author's Note:**

  * For [heartofcathedrals](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartofcathedrals/gifts).



> here's my first of many gift fics this christmas period
> 
> i went for prompt 1: 'Tony's health isn't great and Morgan is showing signs of anxiety, so Peter steps in to try and help her. IronDad but also with big brother Peter.' plus some sick peter as well. i hope you enjoy!

_friday_

Peter’s in the library when he gets the message.

**_Pepper_** _: Are you busy this weekend?_

Given that it’s a Friday afternoon and he’s in the library doing an assignment that isn’t due until the end of the semester, he’s going to go with _no_. Why is Pepper asking, anyway? She’s in England, overseeing a new Stark Industries facility being opened in London.

**_Peter_** _: not really, is everything okay?_

**_Pepper_** _: I think Tony’s feeling a bit under the weather and he’s having some trouble keeping up with Morgan on his own. Would you mind heading down?_

Peter glances out of the window. It’s a grey fall day, leaves tumbling lazily down the wet sidewalk. The miserable kind of fall. He might as well spend it with family.

**_Peter_** _: sure! i’ll just head back to my dorm, pack some things and get on my way_

**_Pepper_** _: Thank you! He’s always so stubborn when he’s ill. Sound familiar?_

**_Peter_** _: no? :)_

* * *

The drive is slower than he’d like, but he makes good time considering it’s weekend traffic and he stops to pick up groceries on the way. It gets dark quickly now, and by the time he pulls up outside the lake house, it’s nighttime and his stomach is growling.

_“Welcome home, Peter,”_ FRIDAY greets him warmly when he steps inside. 

“Thanks, Fri.”

“Peter!” There’s a clatter of footsteps, and Morgan races down the hall to launch herself into his arms. 

“Hi!” He puts down his bags and catches her easily. “How’s my favourite Mongoose?”

“We have to be quiet,” she tells him sternly, as if she hadn’t just stampeded through the hall. “Daddy’s asleep.”

“Old men need their naps,” Peter says, and carries her through to the lounge area.

True enough, Tony’s sprawled out on the couch, mouth open, letting out horrible wet snores. There’s a box of tissues on the coffee table, along with an abandoned glass of orange juice. At least he’s trying.

“All right. Have you had dinner, M?”

“No.”

“I’ll make us something, ‘cause I’m hungry too. What do you want?”

“Pizza!”

“Okay, but I’ll make you some vegetables to go with it, and you have to promise to eat them.”

“Promise,” Morgan says, with the sincerity only an eight-year-old can manage. 

“Pizza it is. And then after that, we can watch a movie. Sound good?”

“Yeah!”

“Awesome.”

* * *

“Do mine eyes deceive me, or is it my wayward kid I see before me?”

Peter bites back a grin as he checks the pizzas through the oven door. “Age isn’t making you any less dramatic.”

“Age? Dramatic? How dare you–?” Tony breaks off into spluttering coughs. 

“Oh, my God, sit down.” Peter grabs a glass and fills it with water before shooing Tony into the nearest barstool.

“It’s just a winter cold,” Tony grumbles, but takes a sip. 

“Do you need Tylenol? When was your last dose?”

“Haven’t had any.”

Peter groans. Stubborn. “Okay, well, take some. I picked up some groceries on my way here, so I’ll make you soup as soon as I’ve fed Morgan.”

“I don’t need–“ Tony coughs again. “Need you to look after me, kid. I’m fine.” He sneezes.

“Uh-huh. You look on top form.”

“Didn’t you have any plans this weekend?”

“Not particularly, except for being a student.”

“That could encompass a range of activities, Web-doodle.”

“The sitting in the library and staring blankly at my laptop part of being a student.” Peter rifles through the grocery bags and pulls out a tin of chicken noodle soup. “This okay?”

Tony smiles softly. “Seriously, kid, I appreciate you doing this, but it’s just a cold. Everyone gets ‘em.”

“Yeah, but it’s worse for you. Remember what the doctors said?”

“No.”

Peter sighs, exasperated. The Snap had nearly killed Tony, and only a quick portal and the ingenuity of the Wakandan doctors had saved him. “Your immune system took a hit from the radiation. Even a mild cold is gonna knock you on your ass. So sit down and let me take care of things for a weekend.”

“Take care of things? I’ve seen your dorm.”

“That doesn’t count! I’m a student.”

“Uh-huh.”

Peter scowls. Tony mock-scowls right back until his nose twitches and he sneezes into a tissue.

* * *

“So,” Tony says quietly, “how was _Moana_ for the fiftieth time?” He has a couch to himself – the germ couch – and he’s curled up under a blanket.

“Still awesome.” Peter stretches, trying not to disturb Morgan, who’s dozing on his chest. “I think it’s bedtime, Mongoose.”

She grumbles, but otherwise doesn’t argue. She’s been quiet all evening, now Peter thinks about it. 

“Okay, let’s go.”

“Don’t forget to do your teeth!” Tony calls, as if he’s any kind of functional, responsible adult and not, in fact, still clutching the bowl of soup Peter made for him three hours ago. 

“I _know_ , Daddy,” she says, and turns her face into Peter’s shoulder.

“Why are you sulking?” Peter says, carrying her up the stairs.

“Not sulking.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Okay. What’s up, then?”

Morgan stays quiet until they’re in her room, at which point she whispers, “Is Daddy really sick?”

_Oh_. “No, he just has a cold, M. He’ll be a bit stuffed up for a few days, but that’s it.”

“I don’t want him to be sick,” she says, her voice wobbling, “because – last time he was sick, he was in hospital for ages and ages, and Mommy and you and Uncle Rhodey were really worried, and–“

“Morgan,” Peter says gently, and tries to block the image of Tony in a coma before it pops up in his mind, “he’s not gonna have to go to the hospital, I promise. He just needs to drink orange juice and rest. He’ll be fine.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.” He sets her down. “Now, pyjamas on and teeth brushed. You got this.”

“Of course I do, I’m eight,” she says archly, and marches towards her bathroom. “Goodnight.”

A clear dismissal from the lady of the house. She likes her independence. “Night, Mongoose.” Peter pads back down the stairs, and stops dead in his tracks when he sees the empty couches. “Tony?”

“Oh, my God, I’m in the kitchen. Stop acting like I’m some confused elderly relative. Do you want tea?”

With a sigh, Peter follows his voice. “Shouldn’t you be resting?”

“I’ve been napping all day. Tea? Pep swears by lemon, honey and ginger when she’s ill.”

“Hot chocolate, please.”

“Sure.”

“You are the worst patient ever.”

“I’m not an invalid,” Tony says, a little sharply. “I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself.”

Peter slides onto a barstool as Tony pours boiling water into their mugs. “So you keep saying.”

“Sorry. Sorry, I know you’re here to help. And you _are_ helping.” Tony slides Peter his mug – an Iron Man one – and takes a sip from his own Spider-Man-themed cup. “I just hate – feeling useless–“

Peter sits up. “You’re not–“

“But I feel it. Oh, okay, this is actually quite good. Maybe Pep’s on to something. Much better than that green shit. Tasted like grass.”

“Don’t change the subject.” Peter sips his drink. “Oh, _man_ , I missed your hot chocolate. Anyway: back to my point.”

“Which is?”

“You. Not useless.”

Tony purses his lips, a disbelieving expression on his face. 

“Tony.”

“Peter.”

“Just ‘cause you’re not Iron Man doesn’t mean you’re useless. You still take care of me, you know? Like when I got the freshman plague, and you showed up at my dorm with that huge care package. This isn’t me taking care of you, it’s just – returning the favour.”

“But I’m the adult.”

“And I am the almost-adult.”

“Yeah.” Tony grins ruefully. “I forget you’re growing up sometimes.”

“I still need my Tony,” Peter says, “and his boxes full of super Tylenol and emergency ramen. Tony can need help too, sometimes. He doesn’t have to do everything himself. Especially when he gets a cold and his immune system isn’t what it used to be–“

“Okay, okay, point made, Underoos.”

“Is it, or did you just want me to stop talking?”

“Oh, keep talking. It’s quiet when you’re not here.”

* * *

_saturday_

“Peter?”

“Hm?” Peter grunts.

“Can you make me breakfast?”

“Huh? Oh, shoot. Sorry, M.” He fishes his phone out from under his pillow and checks the time. 9 AM. “Yeah, ‘m coming.”

“I didn’t want to wake Daddy up.”

“No, good job.” Peter rolls out of bed. “What do you want? Pancakes? Waffles?”

“Eggs and toast,” Morgan says, then adds, “Please.”

“Yeah, I can do that.”

* * *

“Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“Hm?” Peter looks up from the sandwich he’s putting together. “Oh. Hey. Thought you needed the sleep.”

“Sleep, not goddamn hibernation.”

“You need anything else?” Peter says with a grin. 

“What?” Tony tilts his head. “Sorry – blocked ears. And my face hurts.”

“Oh, shit. You don’t have a sinus infection, do you?”

“Hopefully not. Just – all stuffed up.”

“Tylenol? Orange juice? Pepper’s magic tea–?”

“And Rhodey calls me a mother hen,” Tony grumbles. “I’ll go take a shower, see if it helps. I’ll be back in time for lunch.”

“BLT?”

“You know me so well, Underoos.”

* * *

“What’re you doing?”

“My CAD work.” Peter tilts his laptop so Morgan can see.

“What’s that mean?”

“Computer-aided design. Look, I’m making a propellor. If I was at college now, I could send all these parts to the 3D printer, and then it’d be CAM – computer-aided manufacturing.” Peter had no problem explaining this to Morgan; she has her mom and dad’s brains. She’ll get it.

“What’s the propellor for?”

“It’s for my group project. We have to design a drone. This is the second version.”

“What was wrong with the first?”

“Well, the landing gear didn’t have enough bends in it, so there was too much pressure on a few weak points.” He pulls up the diagram of their design. “And the arms at the bottom didn’t open properly. So we’ve fixed those problems, and now the propellers need more power to be able to carry that mechanism.”

“Ohhhhh. What’s the drone for?”

Peter grins. “The point of the project is to design a drone that can drop packages into war zones or areas where disasters have happened. So we need the arms to carry stuff, and it needs enough fuel to get there and back. It’s a good challenge because we have to solve all those problems as best we can while making sure the drone still works.”

“Cool.”

“It’s really cool.”

Morgan does say anything else, just curls up against Peter’s side and watches him work.

* * *

“I’ve never had a headache this bad,” Tony groans. “I have never _hurt_ this bad.”

“Do you want me to list examples? Alphabetically, or starting with the ones I witnessed, before moving onto stories Rhodey’s told me–?”

“Just get me drugs.”

Peter reaches up to the wall-mounted cabinet and retrieves the Tylenol before bringing it over to the shapeless mass on the sofa. One hand reaches out to grasp the packet.

“Do you want to watch something?”

“No.”

“Do you want me to be quiet?”

“No.”

“What do you want?”

“No.”

“Okay,” Peter says, barely fighting back a grin. “I’m going to cook dinner for Morgan. What shall I make you?”

“No.”

* * *

“Is Morgan okay?” Tony asks quietly. It’s late, and they’re once again nursing hot beverages – Peter, hot cocoa, and Tony, tea. “She was still a bit quiet today.”

“She’s, um…” Peter takes a sip. “She’s worried that being sick means going to the hospital, and – I don’t know if you remember – the last time you were in hospital wasn’t…great.”

“I don’t remember, I was napping.”

“Ha. Never heard that one before.”

Tony gently cuffs him around the back of the head. “Let’s watch a movie. Seen anything good recently?”

“Honestly, the last thing I watched was _Sharknado_ because I was drunk as – as a skunk.”

“Good save.”

“It was quite funny.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen you drunk. Everything’s funny.” Tony sighs. “ _Star Wars_?”

“ _Star Wars_.”

* * *

“Tony.”

“Mm?”

“Tony.” Peter sits up, wincing as his back cracks. “We fell asleep on the couches.”

“Yeah, my neck isn’t loving this,” Tony groans. “What time is it?”

_“Two-thirty-three in the morning, Boss.”_

“God.” Tony glares balefully at the television screen, paused on a shot of the Millennium Falcon. “Your _Star Wars_ trick is even working on me now.” He sniffs and reaches for a tissue.

“How’re you feeling?”

“Well, my head is less like a pressure cooker, so there’s that. I think it’s all working its way out through my sinuses.”

“Gross.”

“Yup.”

“Do you…?” Peter yawns. “Do you want anything?”

“I’m good, Web-doodle. I think I better just keep sleeping it off.” Tony heaves himself to his feet with a groan. “C’mon. You’re here, so make the most of having a decent bed.”

With a sigh, Peter follows him up the stairs.

* * *

_sunday_

“How are we feeling this morning?” Peter asks when Tony shuffles his way into the kitchen.

“Like shit,” Tony croaks. “I swallowed thumbtacks in my sleep.”

”It’s like you’re cycling through the symptoms.”

“And they’re all beating my ass. Doctors were right.”

“Here.” Peter hands him a glass of water. “Are you suggesting that qualified medical professionals know what they’re talking about?”

“Brat.”

* * *

**_Pepper:_ ** _How’s it going?_

**_Peter:_ ** _you were right, he’s got a cold and it’s running him down a bit_

**_Pepper:_ ** _Well, the doctors did warn him it would be like this from now on._

**_Peter:_ ** _that’s what i said!_

_**Pepper:** Thank you for doing this, Peter. _

_**Peter:** it’s no problem! and i didn’t mind getting off campus as well _

* * *

“So what time are you leaving?”

“Are you kicking me out?”

Tony sighs.

“I can’t believe you want to get rid of me. Betrayal.”

“No, you dramatic child. It’s Sunday, and the natural order of days leads me to believe that tomorrow is Monday.”

“No, really?”

“Don’t you need to be back on campus?” Tony coughs into his hand, dry and raspy.

“ _Technically_...I don’t need to _attend_ anything until Thursday. O-Chem labs. All my lectures are recorded and put online, and I can do my group project work from here, too.”

“If you’re sure,” Tony says reluctantly. “I don’t want you putting yourself under pressure, you know? Or falling behind. God knows you’re smart, but a double major’s no picnic.”

Peter smiles. “Thanks, Tony. I am on top of it.”

“Well, good.”

“So, no eviction?”

“I _guess_ you can stay.”

“I feel so loved.”

Tony ruffles his hair as he gets up to leave, drawing a yelp of protest as Peter jumps to fix it and nearly drops his coffee.

* * *

_monday_

Peter wakes up unable to breathe through his nose.

“Oh, no,” he mumbles to himself, and it comes out stuffy, nasally. He reaches for his phone, squinting through one eye, and reads the time. Five past eleven. “Fri, is Tony awake?” 

_“He has been awake for two hours and has already made breakfast for himself and Little Miss. He instructed me to let you sleep in.”_

“Ugh.” Peter groans, rolls over, coughs. “Ugh.”

_“Peter, Morgan is outside your door.”_

“Oh, God. Okay, one sec–“

His bedroom door opens, and Peter wilts in the light. Shit, where did that headache come from?

“Peter?”

“Hey, Morg–“‘He coughs, swallows. “Hey.”

“Are you sick?” Morgan whispers.

“I’m fine, M, don’t worry.”

“I thought you couldn’t get sick.”

“Yeah, me too. That was before he moved into college dorms.” Tony appears behind Morgan; his nose looks a little dry, a little red, but otherwise he seems fine. “Morning, Webs. In the loosest sense of the word.”

“Still morning.”

“Ah, yes, I forgot your timezone is _student_ now.”

“Daddy, Peter’s sick.”

“Yep. He caught my hell cold, apparently.”

“Will he have to go to the hospital?”

“Nope,” Peter rasps, “not at all. Don’t worry. No hospital.” He coughs.

“Do you want the magic tea?”

“Please.”

“What’s the magic tea?” Morgan asks as Tony closes Peter’s door and heads down the stairs.

“It’s Mom’s special recipe for when we’re sick.”

“Will it make Peter better?”

“Absolutely.”

“Good, then he doesn’t have to go to the hospital.”

Peter closes his eyes and falls back into cottony sleep.

* * *

“Pete. Wake up. Food time.”

“Nnnnng.”

“Also, you didn’t drink the magic tea earlier and Morgan is, well, concerned.”

“Gimme th’magic tea, then.”

“As you command, germy. I also have super Tylenol, and chicken noodle. The trifecta of infallible cold cures.”

Peter reaches out from under his duvet and makes grabby hands.

“Nuh-uh. Sit up. No spilling.”

“Ugh, fine.” He pushes his covers off.

“This is karma for me being such a bad patient, I know.” Tony’s standing by his bed with a tray. “Soup first, then super drugs, then tea.”

“Is Morgan okay?” Peter croaks. “Has she caught it?”

“She’s fine so far. Hopefully, you and your super immune system will burn through it quickly.”

The soup is so good Peter closes his eyes in bliss, and it’s then that he remembers he never actually had breakfast and it must be nearly lunchtime now. 

“Just like your second week of college all over again, huh?”

“The cycle repeats,” Peter agrees. “Did you make a whole batch of this soup? Asking for a friend.”

“Yes, you can take some back with you.” Tony shoots him a wry look. 

“You can go downstairs,” Peter says. “Morgan needs watching, and I’m not going anywhere.”

“Morgan’s fine,” Tony says gently, “and I’m needed right here.”

“I’m _fine_.”

“Ah, there it is. My karma. Or maybe I was your karma after so many years of ‘I only got lightly stabbed, Mr Stark, it’s fine’.”

Peter scowls.

“Yeah, that’s very cute. What goes around, comes around. Like a bad cold. Now: tea and drugs.”

“Bossy.” But Peter accepts the mug and the pills, quickly throwing them back. “Thank you.”

“Anytime, Webs. How about you take a nap now, yeah?”

“You sure…?” Peter yawns. “You sure everything’s okay?”

“Sure.”

Peter’s too tired to argue.

* * *

“…and what’s that?”

“So I have to log in here, and then I can upload the blueprints and everything – like that – and off they go to R&D for more smart people to look at.”

“Smarter than you?”

“Well, there’s different kinds of smart.”

Peter doesn’t open his eyes, just lets their low voices wash over him. A hand is resting gently on the top of his head.

“Like, Mommy-smart?”

“Exactly. Some of them will have her business brain, so they’ll see if it costs too much, if people will be able to afford it, if we can swap out any of the materials to make it cheaper. And some will check my engineering is good, so everything works.”

“In case you’ve made a mistake?”

“It’s always good to get other people’s opinions.”

“Cool. And did you do it in a – a CAD?”

“Where’d you learn about that?”

“Peter was doing it the other day. He told me about it.”

“Awesome. But I tend to make things myself and then put on the computer.”

“Why d’you do it backwards.”

“Just how I work. Everyone works differently.”

“Cool.”

“Yep.”

Peter sighs and starts let go of his loose grasp on consciousness. Tony massages the top of his head, none the wiser about whether Peter’s awake or asleep, but comforting him all the same. 

“Did Mom’s special tea make him sleepy?”

“Probably, Maguna. So we’re keeping him company 'cause we love him.”

“Cool.”

“Very cool.”

**Author's Note:**

> i'm on tumblr at [akillerqueenwrites](https://akillerqueenwrites.tumblr.com), or my main blog [akillerqueenyouare](https://akillerqueenyouare.tumblr.com). come say hi, ask questions, leave prompts or just yell at me. i've also made a twitter, [@killerqueenao3](https://twitter.com/killerqueenao3) , if any of you want to talk to me there (it's mostly pictures of my dog). thank you for reading!


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